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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174168">We Lay Here For Years Or For Hours, Your Hand in My Hand.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeandjollyranchers/pseuds/smokeandjollyranchers'>smokeandjollyranchers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bren's bad brain, F/M, Ikithon being manipulative, some steamy make outs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:29:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,874</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeandjollyranchers/pseuds/smokeandjollyranchers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He considers them scars. </p>
<p>The ash on his fingers never seems to leave, never seems to stop spoiling anything he touches. Caleb leaves a little of his darkness on everything he touches. </p>
<p>(To be clear, my Bren, Astrid and Wulf are all of age, thank you :D )</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(past), Astrid/Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Eodwulf/Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We Lay Here For Years Or For Hours, Your Hand in My Hand.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He considers them scars. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ash on his fingers never seems to leave, never seems to stop spoiling anything he touches. Caleb leaves a little of his darkness on everything he touches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembers the first time he ran a thumb along Astrid’s bottom lip, and the blackness smeared against the sweet oil she had used to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Suggest</span>
  </em>
  <span> he touch her, reverently. Astrid’s ego rivals the gods </span>
  <em>
    <span>most</span>
  </em>
  <span> days, so her commanded suggestion is easy to give. She sighs when he pulls his thumb away, her bottom lip marred by his magic. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t help but leave your power behind. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She hums, reaching for his collar to pull him closer to her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Never apologize for leaving your mark, Bren. That’s why we’re here. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he listens to her, as he always does, mark after mark left behind. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>He remembers the way Edowulf had taken one of his fingers in his mouth, and the nearly comical flash of confusion flashing across pleasure blown pupils when the ash touches his tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Burning for me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wulf teases him, blue eyes flashing as Bren’s fingers slip from between swollen lips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You taste like fire</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wulf slants his lips over Bren’s and the smaller mage tries to lose himself in the sensation of Wulf’s rough hands against his sides, the way his tongue trials his lips. Bren can taste the smoke on Wulf’s tongue, and he wishes it wasn’t this way. He wishes he didn’t have to burn to love them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Wulf’s teeth sink into his neck and the flames inside of him </span>
  <em>
    <span>ignite. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll burn to keep you warm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bren promises, like there was ever a world that would let him keep that promise. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>He remembers leaving a smear in one of the books in Ikithon’s study, remembers the cool way his master had stared at the mess he’d made, the causal way he explained that the book was worth more than Bren’s life would </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> be worth. That beating stung almost as badly as the realization that Ikithon was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ikithon sits at his desk, the book open to where Bren’s thumbprint now rests, and shakes his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What good is saving you from the gutter if you refuse to be grateful for it? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His blank eyes lift to watch Bren, trembling with the effort of even </span>
  <em>
    <span>standing</span>
  </em>
  <span> after Ikithon had ordered him to spar with the scourger class ahead of him. Bruises bloom behind his eyes, and even blinking hurts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bren matches his gaze, however, something inside of him refuses to dull out, refusing to swallow </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> abuse. The flames that drew Ikithon to him in the first place now </span>
  <em>
    <span>challenge </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. His fingers clench, more ash falling from the movement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m more than grateful for this opportunity. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bren keeps his voice calm, pleasant, but Ikithon can see the rage underneath him. His master smiles, though it never reaches the emptiness of his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stars burn brighter and faster than candles, boy, do try to think past a single day. Learn my lessons and I won’t have to keep teaching them to you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The ash never leaves. He remembers remembering </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the empty haze of the asylum where time passed all too quickly and not nearly fast enough. He catches glances of hands that didn’t feel like his and wondering why they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>burnt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And it seems just as he’s about to remember, it slips away again. He wonders why he’s burning when it’s so cold around him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then one day, he has an answer. One day, a woman grabs his smoldering skin, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>makes</span>
  </em>
  <span> him remember. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the first thing he smells is smoke. He smells burning wood, and then the unmistakable scent of scorched flesh. He can hear screams echoing in his mind, his mother first. She was a lighter sleeper than his father. She woke first. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He screams. He screams and screams and screams and screams, hands over his face as he tries to hide from memories long buried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers still smell like fire. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The first time he takes Nott’s hand, pretending to be a father trying to support his small child, he sees her </span>
  <em>
    <span>notice,</span>
  </em>
  <span> really notice the burnt cracking skin of his fingers. The shame that mars everything about him, the ghosts of the flames that will never leave him. He watches the little goblin’s wide black pupils shrink in her interest, and Caleb feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>panic. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bren never used to dwell in panic, but Caleb is a different creature and he feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Nott looks up at him. Has she pieced it together? Has this small little creature with the clever mind figured him out so quickly? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, Nott plays along with their bit, and they walk away with 8 silver pieces. Enough to get some food, some supplies, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ja we will get you some booze, but not in front of these people who think you are my child.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If she’s fixated on his hand (and she is, he’s been watching her watch him for a couple hours now), she says nothing. He wishes he wasn’t so relieved when she slips away to slink about the town but her eyes are unrelenting in their investigation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s back fairly quickly. Nott is a funny little goblin but she doesn’t let him worry too long. She comes back with a flask that sounds full, a couple of blankets she stole off a clothesline for them. Then she becomes a little shy, a dark green flush along her cheekbones when she pulls out some bandages from her bag, similar to the ones she’s wrapped herself in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to be rude, </span>
  </em>
  <span>She starts, and Caleb is quite confident she is about to be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I saw you saw me see your hands, and I could tell you didn’t like it. So, I got you these, so you can keep it a secret still. Like I do</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bren was never a hugger, but Caleb doesn’t seem to have that problem as he pulls the goblin into his arms. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Beau is the first one who asks him about it, because of course she is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re on watch, and Beau has been staring at the stars in complete and total </span>
  <em>
    <span>boredom</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the last 3 hours. Caleb keeps transcribing, and it isn’t until he’s halfway through he notices ash smearing ink, and he swears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beau opens one of her eyes, blue illuminated gold in the light of their fire. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How come it’s worse sometimes? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb sighs, ready to tell her how rude that question is, but words die on his tongue. For some reason, he’s compelled to answer her question. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I used fire spells today. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He looks as his cracked skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s always worse when I cast with fire. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beau is interested now, listening. Caleb doesn’t offer her more, just turns to a fresh page in his spell book. The silence resumes, and Beau eventually slumps back against the tree. Her eyes close again, and Caleb counts nearly ten minutes of silence before Beau speaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t have to keep using the spells that hurt you, yanno. Especially for us. Lots of other spells you know. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Jester is </span>
  <em>
    <span>enchanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> by his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>her word. Caleb wouldn’t use that word to describe what he considers his penance, the ever constant reminder of all the horrible things he’s done. All the horrible things he </span>
  <em>
    <span>continues</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do, if the way he can watch that burning spread up his fingers is any indication. But Jester doesn’t see it that way, Jester </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>sees anything how he expects her to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s painting on the roof of the Xhorhouse, her tongue caught between her teeth as her brush moves against her canvas. Caleb’s dancing lights hover around her, as twilight is apparently </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> ideal for painting, and her pink bottom lip curled out in a pout was more than enough to give her the cantrip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s resting under their tree, the dim glowing lights giving a dream like quality to the moment, and Caleb lets himself enjoy it. Fleeting moments like this, with her but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>with her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they’re the only kindness he’s alloted himself in a very long time. Frumpkin jumps into his lap, curling into a ball as he purrs. Caleb’s fingers brush against Frumpkin, and if the Fey King is upset about the ash in his fur, he doesn’t make it known. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jester giggles, pulling Caleb’s attention back to the radiant smile on her face, and she holds up her hand. Bright pink paint covers her fingertips, and her eyes are bright when she looks at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cayyyyyyleb look! My hands look like yours! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her laugh is so lovely, he can’t help but smile back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, it’s a much prettier color, Jester. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jester pouts, and she sets down her brush again. She moves fast, from being next to her canvas to next to him, pink and green paint dripping off her fingers. She holds her hand out to him, glistening in the lights, and she smiles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I like </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>your</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> color though. But if you don’t, let’s change it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gods, it’ll be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mess</span>
  </em>
  <span> to clean that paint and ash off of his hands, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching for her paint covered hands. Doesn’t stop him from letting Jester pull him to his feet, a genuinely pleased smile on her face. Her vibrant fingers slip between his blackened ones, and Jester squeezes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seeeeeee Cayleb? They look beautiful. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb is </span>
  <em>
    <span>stunned</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He has never looked at the scars in his hand and thought them beautiful. He’s never seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>color </span>
  </em>
  <span>pressed between the darkness like this. His eyes meet Jester’s and he sees that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>means</span>
  </em>
  <span> what she’s saying. That she thinks that’s beautiful. She thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>beautiful, despite the shame marring his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t take sweet oil to pull him in, he brings his hand free hand to her face, and he runs a thumb across her cheekbone. Blackened pink lights up against freckled blue skin, and it makes her eyes pop as they widen to look at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s never been beautiful before, Jester. Thank you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jester smiles at him, a softness in her eyes that he’s only noticed in fleeting moments. It’s different here, this close, he can see the softness in Jester’s eyes. One of her hands reaches for his, and then she pauses. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is it okay if I kiss you Cayleb?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s frozen but only for a moment, only one long singular second of pause before he nods. Jester beams before her paint covered hand reach for his face and then they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Caleb can feel the way her strong arms wrap around him, can feel the way she smiles into the kiss, can feel the way her sigh is </span>
  <em>
    <span>relieved</span>
  </em>
  <span>. When they finally pull away, he’s holding her head in his hands, pink and green and black smeared across her skin, and Caleb </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiles. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The fire doesn’t bother you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jester rolls her eyes playfully, and she brings her hands to his face too, the paint smearing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They don’t remind me of fire, Cayleb, they remind me of heat. They remind me of the sun and of camping, and it reminds me of a million things, but not that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not burning anymore. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Widojest Week! I fully intend to get to the other prompts when the creativity comes back to meee but for now, I'm DEF not going to miss out on my favorite headcanon being a prompt. Enjoy the fluff n' love! And happy thrusday </p>
<p>youcanreplytomyshamelessheadcanonpromotions</p></blockquote></div></div>
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